The Note
by ScarlettWrites
Summary: It was a very ordinary day. The last thing you expected, lay reading in the park, was to have a tall, handsome, extremely famous actor wander over and leave you breathless. Tom Hiddleston/Reader fic. I own nothing but the OC. Relatively slow burner with long, drawn out smut- please review and leave ideas/constructive criticism!
1. Chapter 1

It had been a more beautiful day than you could ever remember.

The sun peeking from behind cotton-wool clouds and the breeze weaving Celtic knots through your hair. Quiet too. Highly unusual for London in summer. Tourists usually poured into the city, along with everyone else lucky enough to have the day to themselves, taking advantage of the longer daylight hours.

You had ended up at your favourite spot in the park, under the bowing branches of a willow tree. Your fair skin couldn't take a full day of direct sunlight. In the cool shade you lay on your tummy.

The distant sounds of the city rumbled with the stream nearby, a perfect companion to your book. As you focused on the old, musty pages, you fiddled idly with a strand of cotton that had come away from the hem of the tartan blanket you lay on.

So engrossed were you, in the tale unravelling in your hands, that you were completely oblivious to the man watching you from his secluded park bench over the way. He was reading too, but had unknowingly let the thick stack of paper slip flat onto his lap.

You didn't see him suddenly snap back into reality and shake his head, ready himself to leave.

You didn't see the moment of hesitation as he rose to walk away.

You didn't see him look over his shoulder to take you in once more, before resolving himself to action.

No. You were blind to all of that. The first you knew of him was the slight cough, that came from a few yards away, and the polite, low voice that enquired;

"Excuse me? I'm so very sorry to disturb you but, do you happen to have a pen I could borrow?"

* * *

_Smooth Tom._

_Really smooth._

The girl looked up at him, jumped almost, not expecting company. Her eyes were a startling shade of blue, clashing exquisitely with the red hair that had floated about her in the breeze, gossamer on the wind.

It had been the first thing he had noticed about her. That hair.

It shone down her back, and dripped over her shoulders, the top half caught in a clip at the nape of her neck. He could see it catching the light there as he looked down at her, close enough now to see that it was green, enamel leaves twisting around each other. The colour matched the thin tea dress she wore that was cut demurely to her knees.

She had gazed up at him over her gold thin-rimmed glasses and said something, lost to him, too distracted to hear, as he stood, drinking her in. She let the old, leather-bound book drop to the tartan beneath her and leaned up on her knees to dig through the basket beside her.

_How sweet that she uses a basket. She's like a fairy tale character..._

He watched as her long fingers reached up to him, and took the proffered biro. Her wrists were so slender and she moved with effortless elegance.

"Thank you so much." he finally managed.

"Not a problem, honestly." she smiled, returning to her book.

* * *

You knew who he was, of course you did. You weren't a complete imbecile.

However, you had lived in London just long enough that the stardust glamour of celebrities had dimmed somewhat. You had seen enough of them doing their shopping, and drunkenly staggering from elite clubs into taxis, to have realised they were just as human as you.

He scribbled quietly beside you at, what you assumed to be, his script. You had imagined it would be something quick and then he'd be gone, but the scratching of nib against paper continued.

This was silly. You'd read this sentence five times.

"Wouldn't you rather sit to write? That can't be comfortable."

You had spotted a bench not too far off, it would be easier for him there.

His eyes flicked up from the page to meet yours.

Icy blue.

You tried to disguise the hitch in your breath by looking back down at your page and cleared your throat before speaking again.

"I mean, I'm not going to send out a search party if you decide to wander off with it." you smiled back up at him, gesturing to the borrowed pen.

His face broke into a grin and he laughed, lowering his eyes to the page.

"That's OK, I'm very nearly finished."

God, he was handsome.

But he was also someone you were never likely to see again, apart from on a screen. At least, you'd have something fun to tell your parents when they made their weekly phone call. You averted your eyes back to the page in your hands. He had millions of women staring at him like schoolgirls every day, he certainly wouldn't appreciate another.

"Thank you again." came his voice as he returned the pen to you, "I hope you didn't mind me taking up a little of your time."

"Not at all." was all you could manage as you looked up at him.

"Um... this is for you as well actually. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon." he said, holding out the paper he'd been writing on, folded into quarters now.

"Oh..." you breathed, watching him smile and begin to walk away.

He strode off, long legs taking him far away in no time at all. You realised you had frozen in position, watching him leave. Lurching back into the real world you opened the page in your hand.

On the back was a few typed notes regarding a nameless character, meaningless to you, but as you flipped it, you saw the blue handwriting. Small words, tidy though obviously rushed.

_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate..._


	2. Chapter 2

He had hoped that, by the end of the week, the girl would have faded from his memory.

But there he was, almost ten days later and she still flashed through his mind in vivid technicolour.

Red, Green, Blue.

_Damn._

Had he been right to leave that sonnet with her? Or had it just cemented her into his memory? Jesus, if she went public with his little love-note the papers would have a field day...

But she wouldn't, he knew. He had only met her eyes for a few seconds but it was enough. He knew. She had just been so... different. She hadn't asked for an autograph or a photo. She had barely even looked at him. It had all felt so normal.

He had originally planned to scribble meaninglessly, just to have the opportunity to look her over at close quarters but, once he put pen to paper, it had just flowed out. And then she had smiled and made him laugh. He felt like a schoolboy again.

A door closing in the next room brought him out of his daydream and he finished knotting the tie that lay around his neck. This infatuation had to stop. He was never going to see her again, so what was the point in it?

"Are you nearly ready, mate?" came the voice of his friend and publicist, Luke.

"Yes, sorry, I was miles away." Tom replied, nudging his tie into place and striding from the room to pull on his jacket.

"You have been for a while. Anything wrong?"

"No, no! Just trying to get my head around this next job. You know what it's like."

Luke laughed and, with reassurances, ushered Tom from the apartment to the waiting car outside.

* * *

You hadn't told a soul about the note.

You hadn't even mentioned your chance meeting.

Best to keep this one to yourself, you thought. You had read the note over and over till the curves and lines of his handwriting were burned irrevocably into your memory. But life had to go on, _normal_ life, and you had sadly tucked it away into your shoebox of old letters, determined not to obsess yourself with it.

It had been a surreal, fleeting encounter. But that was all it was.

You slipped into your black skirt, tucking in the crisp white shirt and clipping on the ridiculous maroon, bow tie.

_Back to reality, indeed, _you thought, sighing as you pulled up your hair into a pony tail. This was going to be a horrible night at the hotel you worked in. You hated the large hospitality functions full of pretentious lawyers and bankers, that barked orders at you like it was the dark ages, or simply acted like you weren't even there.

Happily, the Tube was quiet and you got a seat, delving into 'Pride and Prejudice'. Big mistake, you soon realised, as Darcy morphed easily in your mind to Tom. Slamming it shut, you read every word on every TFL poster, distracting yourself until your stop.

Entering through the staff entrance of the hotel, you signed in and instantly met with the usual chaos that preceded a big event. It was easy to slip thoughtlessly into your work before gathering with your workmates in the staffroom for a briefing.

Your line manager began with the usual speech about 'expecting the highest standards of hospitality from everyone' and 'wanting professionalism at all times'. You allowed yourself to drift off into a daydream. You had heard every word of this before, numerous times and knew how to do your job.

"Right, let's go folks! Canapés and champagne first please!"

The bustling returned as you all moved in unison to the old ballroom where the guests had just begun to arrive. It wasn't too long before the room was utterly packed and moving around with the trays became too difficult. At this point, you grabbed a champagne bottle and began a circuit of the room, topping up glasses.

You approached a group of tuxedo-clad men who were talking animatedly and laughing. You gestured with the bottle and they gladly thrust their glasses forward.

"Top up, mate?" one of them semi-shouted, tapping his tall friend on the shoulder, who had turned away talking to someone behind them.

"Tom, mate, top up?!" he repeated, and the man finally turned, offering his glass.

"Yes, please, would love one! I..."

The words caught in his throat as he saw you, eyes widening. You felt your sharp intake of breath and wavered, desperately trying to keep yourself from dropping the bottle.

"Hello..." he murmured, obviously in shock, frozen in place as his friends looked on, silent now and confused.

"I... I'm terribly sorry..." you managed, before turning and, almost running, to the door, leaving Tom Hiddleston and his friends staring after you, bewildered.


	3. Chapter 3

_It couldn't be her..._

"What the bloody hell was that?!"

"Do you _know_ her, Tom?"

"Damn rude, running off like that..."

Questions and comments, exploded from the group around him. He remained unmoving, not believing his eyes.

"Tom?!" Luke yelled, moving in front of his face, "Wakey, fucking, wakey, pal! What just happened?"

"Hold this for me will you?" Tom muttered, handing Luke his empty glass.

He set off across the room at a quick pace, dodging other party-goers and pushing open one of the big, double doors. He bolted through it, ending up in a long corridor with rooms and kitchens on either side, stretching away from him.

Fuck. She could have gone anywhere.

He sighed, running both hands through his hair. Luke would kill him if he didn't return soon.

Dejected, he slowly turned.

And there she was.

Wide-eyed and silent, clutching the champagne bottle to her. Her back pressed against the door he hadn't pushed open. He must have shot right past her.

He let out a breath, and laughed.

"Hello again..."

"Hi... I am... so, _so_ sorry for rushing out like that. I don't know what came over me."

"Oh God, no, not a problem, not a problem. Just wanted to make sure you were OK..."

"Oh, yes, I'm fine, thank you."

The silence stretched between them. God, this was awkward.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. She had lowered her gaze to the floor and was biting her lip. She was as breathtaking as he remembered. Adorable in her work uniform. He pushed away mental images of himself kissing those rose-coloured lips into a smile and running his hands over the curves of her body.

"I wonder," he began hesitantly, "would it be highly inappropriate for me to ask what you're doing after this?"

Her eyes flicked to his. He could see shock and confusion on her face.

"Um... it'll be 2am... I'll be going to bed, I think."

His eyebrow unconsciously lifted at this and she coloured slightly at the unintended insinuation of her words.

"Of course, you'll be finishing late, how silly of me."

_I have to see you again though._

Unless she didn't _want_ to see him again. The pernicious thought surged in his brain. Had the sonnet been unwelcome attention? Was he her type? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she even straight?

_You don't know anything about this girl, Tom. Not even her name._

Her silence stretched in front of him. She looked so uncomfortable. Sighing, he resolved to return to the party. He wouldn't pursue her further if she was disinterested in him.

"Well, I won't keep you." he said kindly, a sad smile on his face that went nowhere near his eyes, "It was lovely to see you again though, even just once."

His hand went to the door next to her, about to push through when something stopped him. The delightful pressure of her own hand on his arm. She had turned to face him, though her eyes were trained on the contact between them.

"I... I'm free tomorrow." came her whisper.

And she looked up at him, face breaking into a shy smile.

* * *

You weren't free tomorrow, but you bloody well _would_ be.

You practically begged your friend Sarah to take your shift. It was only after promises of chocolate and wine and all things tasty that she relented, though a little put out that you wouldn't tell her why.

The rest of your shift had flown by, his eyes following you around the room as you worked. Mercifully, he didn't seem to mind the bow-tie.

You had arranged to meet under the willow tree again and go from there. The day was a little cooler than it had been and you'd struggled to decide what to wear.

You'd ended up in your favourite pair of skinny jeans, cuffed to show your ankles, your soft, cream brogues and a matching cream button-down in a thin floaty material, that skimmed loosely over your curves. You'd flung your black blazer over the whole thing, wound a green, muslin scarf round your neck and bolted for the Tube before you had a chance to make yourself late.

You sat there now, back flush against the tree with your book in your lap. You were pretending to read, but instead were internally panicking about seeing him again. Was this a date? Were you under-dressed? What would you even find to talk about?

"Excuse me miss, is that book causing you trouble?"

You jumped, looking up at his smiling face from behind the tree, where he'd snuck up on you, and laughed, breathily.

"It's just, you looked so concerned," he dropped to sit by your side, "I thought I should intervene before things got too serious."

Obviously, your worry had been painted all over your face.

You sighed dramatically.

"My hero!"

He laughed then and held out his hand.

"I apologise for my terrible manners. I haven't even introduced myself. Tom."

You gave him your name and shook his hand, light-headed at the contact.

"It's nice to properly meet you as opposed to chasing you across a ballroom like Cinderella." he grinned.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" you cringed, "I just never expected to see you again and it was such a shock!"

"You're telling me.." he muttered, his smile softening as he gazed deeply into your eyes.

You fumbled over your words, trying to get them out, but struggling against the deep blue pools of his stare. His eyes unconsciously dropped to your lips and you found the strength to tear yourself back to the present.

_Had he been about to kiss you?_

"So, what would you like to do today? I'm guessing the tourist traps aren't your thing?"

He smiled... God, that smile... and sniggered as he replied;

"Ha! No, not any more anyway! I know a quiet little café round the corner. Cup of tea? My treat."

"How could I resist?" you giggled.

As he helped you to your feet, you hope he didn't realise you were only half kidding.

* * *

She was intoxicating.

He hung on every word that she spoke, watching her face light up when she talked animatedly about something she loved. The way she looked at him as he talked, interested in what he had to say instead of just, simply, _him_.

They had stayed there, in that small, secluded café, for hours. The awkwardness that plagues the start of every 'first date' had melted the moment they sat down and began to talk. Ages and birthdays were exchanged. Very different childhoods described. She had told him about how she'd ended up in London, he told her about the play he was about to start rehearsing for at the Donmar. She loved Shakespeare. So did he. She knew that already. How?

_Please don't have 'Googled' me... please don't be that girl..._

"Your note..." she'd said, shyly dipping her head to her cup of tea as she recalled the words of the sonnet.

He sighed, almost in relief.

_Oh yes... the note._

"I have to say, it was very unexpected! Welcome... but unexpected. I still don't understand why you'd give it to me!"

She was giggling now, trying to cover her shyness. An ache inside him snapped.

"You just seemed to personify it that day. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

"Oh..." she blushed.

Carefully, he reached and took her chin in his hand, bringing her to face him. Her eyes were lowered to his lips. They were so close now.

"You took my breath away by not _trying_ to take my breath away. I never wanted to tell someone how beautiful they were in my life."

_You shouldn't be doing this in public, you shouldn't be doing this in public, you shouldn't be doing this in..._

His thoughts ceased as her sapphire eyes blinked up to his, forehead creased in disbelief at his words.

Falteringly, the words whispered from her;

"You think I'm beautiful?"

And with her admission of modesty, he threw all caution to the wind and allowed himself to die a thousand small deaths as his lips softly met hers.


	4. Chapter 4

You were going to pass out, you were certain of it.

His kiss stopped your breathing, dead. Your eyes had crashed closed and you had fallen into the sweet sensation of his delicate lips on yours.

It was too much. Entirely, too much to take in.

His hand had slid up your neck, cradling the back of your head. Yours had come to rest on his chest, fingers curling in the cotton of his shirt.

And then, as if it was rehearsed, you let each other in simultaneously, his tongue massaging yours in a gentle dance. You couldn't help it. The quiet moan left you completely against your will, vibrating against his mouth. His hands balled into fists where they were, one grasping your hair, the other pulling your waist closer so that you were pressed up against him.

The kiss deepened, became more intense.

You were dimly aware of your surroundings.

Thank God Tom had had the presence of mind to pick a table out of the way of others.

Slowly, you left each other, small kisses punctuating the long passion that had just played out between you.

You sat, still embracing tightly, his forehead lightly resting against yours.

With a jolt, you realised he was as breathless as you, panting as if you'd both just done a 100m sprint.

Your eyelids flickered open just in time to see his do the same.

"Hi..."

_Was that really all you could think of to say?_

He let out a breathless laugh and repeated your greeting.

"Come to dinner tomorrow." he blurted

"I can't." you said, regret aching in your voice, "I have to work."

"Then the day after, or the day after that, whenever. Just come."

You fixed on a day. A weekend that wouldn't interfere with your job or his rehearsals and mercifully not too far away. You knew you wouldn't be able to last more than a few days without seeing him again.

He was the perfect gentleman, wanting to drive you home, only giving in and walking you to your Tube stop when you insisted on it. A small, lingering kiss goodbye and you descended into the stuffy warmth of the Underground.

You didn't read this time.

You sat entranced with your own thoughts. His kisses playing over and over in your mind.

* * *

"O that I had him,  
With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,  
To use my lawful sword!"

_Thank God, my last line._

He adored Shakespeare, and his job, but this read-through had dragged.

He knew why.

Their kiss was haunting him, teasing him, making him focus on nothing else but her. It was dangerous. Detrimental to his work, he knew, but so delicious a sin.

"OK folks, thank you so much for that. We'll reconvene tomorrow and start getting it on it's feet. Well done everyone."

Josie, the director led the room in a round of applause before everyone started the shuffling task of packing up and going home. Tom chatted amiably with his fellow cast mates as they left, promising dinner with Mark in the coming week, before switching on his phone and hoisting his bag to his shoulder.

As he reached his car, the message tone fired a few times and he leaned back in the driver's seat to read them.

One from Luke, one from his agent and one from her.

Bypassing the others, he opened her text.

**Hey you, hope rehearsal went well :) xxx**

Quickly, he replied;

**Really well, but distracted for some reason... ;) xxx**

Smiling, he drove the short way home receiving her reply as he walked through the door to his apartment.

**Can't think why... xxx**

He let out a small laugh and flicked on the kettle as he replied.

**You know very well why, temptress. Xxx**

He had settled down in front of the TV with his cup of tea before she responded. It had given him just enough time to start to panic, that he had been too forward with calling her a 'temptress', and he breathed a small sigh of relief that she had, at least, replied.

As his eyes scanned the text, his eyebrows rose and a pleasant jolt ran through him, sparking his mischievousness.

**Give me half a chance and I'll show you just how tempting I can be. ;) xxx**

* * *

You did not just send that.

You did _not_ just send that!

The glee of rebelliousness ran through you, making you laugh and panic at the same time. You tried to imagine his reaction. Surely, since he was obviously attracted to you, he wouldn't mind?

You paced the room, growing more worried each moment that you might have overstepped the mark. But he had started it, right?! You wondered what he was doing, whether he was wondering how to respond to your blatant flirting. He was taking a while to reply...

You didn't know that as he rushed to type his comeback, he grappled with his belt, desperate to free his hardness and relieve the ache that had been growing inside him.

You didn't know that, as he typed, he bucked his hips into his own hand. That as he pressed 'Send', he practically threw his phone down and gasped as his hand sped him frantically to his release.

You didn't know, wide-eyed and growing wet, your own hand slipping into your knickers, that he was coming, hard, moaning your name, as you read his words;

**Lady, I sincerely look forward to the day you tempt me. **

**Tempt me to take you to my bed. **

**Tempt me to kiss you until you see stars. **

**Tempt me to send my tongue across every inch of your skin. **

**Tempt me to pleasure you until the only word you can remember is my name. Xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

He had counted the days till he could see her next.

Their texts had only gotten steamier through the week, though, still, she remained sweet and thoughtful, and always asked how his day had gone. The day before yesterday, they had talked on the phone for an hour before bed. She had just got in from work, a wedding, she said.

She had told him about the flowers, how beautiful they'd been, she had wanted to be a florist when she was little and he'd asked what her favourite were. Tulips, she had said, sleepily. Yesterday, she would have been greeted, as she walked into work, by a bouquet of them in every colour possible.

He drove tonight, to pick her up, testing the speed limit _just_ slightly in his impatience to see her. He had decided on his favourite black jumper and jeans, keeping it casual and wondered what she'd be wearing.

Then wondered what she'd be wearing _under_ what she'd be wearing...

_Bloody hell Tom, focus. You'll end up off the road if you're not careful._

She lived in an outer borough of London. She was lucky enough, she'd told him, to be able to afford a place by herself. It was the size of a postage stamp considering how much she paid in rent, but at least she had her privacy.

He pulled up in the quiet street and texted her to say he'd arrived.

He looked around at her neighbourhood.

Short, winding terraces of Victorian town-houses spread out like a spider-web. They'd all been cut into flats, he guessed. She had said hers was the one with the white, wooden window-boxes and he could see it now, light illuminating the pale blue curtains of her home.

Suddenly, the light went out and he caught his breath.

She'd appear at the white door any second and he ached with anticipation.

Then, there she was. Locking the door. A vision in red.

She locked the door and wandered over, the sunset gleaming off her hair.

He had enough time to compose himself and look her over, though not enough to wipe the huge grin from his face.

She had worn her hair down, curling gently against her face.

Her make-up was natural and complimentary.

Her red dress was a thin summer one, cut in a 1940's style and floating to her knees.

Her shoes were modest heels, shiny black with a T-bar fastening.

She looked like a porcelain doll.

He suddenly felt terribly under-dressed.

* * *

You stop at the driver's side window and lean down to meet his eye.

"A Jag? I might have known." you say, cheekily, winking.

Before he can get out, to open your door for you, you trot around and let yourself in.

His lips are on you in a second. He's surprisingly forceful, like he absolutely _needs_ you right now or he'll burst.

"You, young lady," he smiles into your mouth, "have had me in pieces all week."

"Well, you haven't exactly helped matters. You wouldn't get out of my mind. I say this is all _your_ fault." you counter, running your hands through his hair as you kiss him back.

Finally, you part and he fires the car into life.

"Hungry?" he asks.

You bite your lip at the lascivious thoughts that that one word provokes.

"Ravenous. Do I get to know what's on the menu in advance?"

"All I will say is, I hope you like pasta!" he laughs, pulling out into the traffic of the main road.

You make small talk while you travel, all the while drinking him in, staggered by the unbelievable fact that, this man, _this man_, of all people is interested in you.

He looks delicious tonight. All in black, so comfortable and easy that you feel awkward and over-dressed. You watch him drive, like it's second nature to him, his forearms flexing as he changes gear in a way that makes your stomach tighten with sheer want.

You pull up in a beautiful, tree lined avenue not far from the park and, before you can stop him, Tom is out of the car and at your door, kissing you on the forehead as you rise from your seat.

You chat lightly as you enter his apartment and he tells you to make yourself at home while he gets you both a drink.

The place is beautiful. Understated elegance in muted colours, the living room is about the size of your entire flat. You are drawn, immediately, to his bookshelves, which line one side of the room.

Engrossed in the wonderful titles there, you only just register the soft jazz start up in the kitchen and the clatter of pots and pans. Tom, Chef at work.

You are just rising up on your tiptoes to see the higher shelf as he returns, glass of red wine in hand.

* * *

_Of course, she'd gravitate toward the books._

He smiled, softly, at the girl before him, trailing her slender fingers along the spines of the books and balancing on her toes in her curiosity.

She bounced back to her feet and took the glass, thanking him.

"You look stunning." he breathed, encircling her in his arms, "You make me feel utterly inadequate."

"You have got to be kidding!" she blurted, turning red as he laughed heartily.

"Sorry!" she blushed, "It's just, well, you look just fine to me..."

"Then that is all the reassurance I need." he kissed her gently, quickly as a timer began to blare in the kitchen.

She followed him in and he lifted her, as if she weighed nothing, to perch on the counter-top as he worked. They laughed as he cooked, finding conversation easy and he scolded her playfully when she stole ingredients, popping them into her mouth as covertly as she could. Which was _not_ covertly in the slightest.

They ate by candlelight, of course. He had made a note of her favourite music and had loaded his I-Pod with hours of it. They talked about his favourite roles, her favourite holidays, his love of tennis and her ability to pour champagne one-handed being one of her many talents.

She made him laugh. He made her smile.

All the time, he found himself noticing her little nuances.

The way her mouth curled at the edges into a smile.

The unbelievably sexy way she made him hard, without even realising it, by biting her lip and wrinkling her nose when she was embarrassed.

"That was really wonderful." she hummed in satisfaction as they both flopped down onto the sofa afterwards, "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. It's a pleasure just to have you here." he murmured, pushing a curl back, behind her ear.

She blushed, so easily, and giggled.

"So... these films you promised..." she continued, following on from a conversation at dinner about their top 'date night' movies.

"Ah yes," he jumped up, rummaging through his extensive DVD collection and bringing back three cases, "These are _the_ perfect, cosy-up-on-the-sofa flicks."

"You like 'Pretty Woman'?!" she giggled cheekily.

"OK, OK! 'The Last of the Mohicans' or 'The English Patient'? Lady's choice." he laughed, holding them both up for her selection.

"'The English Patient', definitely." she smiled.

"Good call." he grinned, loading the player, dimming the lights and sinking down next to her as the film began.


	6. Chapter 6

The film was one of your favourites, but you just. Could. Not. Concentrate.

Not with his arm wrapped around you, tracing patterns on your shoulder.

You glance over at him. His gaze fixed on the television screen. He didn't appear to know what effect he was having on you.

He sensed your stare and leans into you, kissing you lightly.

"You know, this is a curl-up-on-the-sofa film. You can if you'd like."

His hand moves under your knees, pulling your legs up over his before you stop him.

"My shoes!" you breath, not wanting to ruin his couch.

He slides his hands down your legs, scattering goosebumps across your skin. Slowly, he unfastens one buckle, then the other and drops the heels to the floor. He settles your legs down, over his lap and continues his soft caresses there. He turns to you, slipping his hand up to cradle your jaw and kisses you, so softly, once.

"I am having to work extremely hard to stop myself thinking _bad_ thoughts about you madam." he whispers against your lips, "Be thankful you wore tights, who knows what I would have done if I had the temptation of your bare skin under my hands."

Steeling yourself, you reach down and gently place your hand over his, resting on your shin. Slowly, so slowly, you guide his hand up, under your skirt and up your thigh. The hitch in his breath makes you jump internally.

His blue eyes dilate to black as his fingertips hit the clip of your suspender belt, the top of your stocking, the slight hint of naked thigh and you purr;

"I _didn't_ wear tights."

* * *

His body reacts, completely independent of his mind.

He kisses her, hard, hungrily, making her fall back onto the sofa. He rests on top of her, one forearm propping himself up by their heads, the other roaming her body.

The moment his fingers brushed the suggestive underwear, his cock had stiffened and the primal animal that lived inside him had roared to the forefront of his being. His senses are on fire, trying desperately to take every second in.

She arches her body up against his hand, moaning sinfully into his kiss, making him harder. He rests between her legs and unconsciously presses his need into her centre, making her head tilt back. She bites her lip, from sheer lust rather than embarrassment this time, and he feels the animal pounce in him again.

He leans to kiss her neck, up her jawline. To elicit the most gorgeous, little gasps of pleasure from her lips.

His hand has run down her thigh to cup her pert behind. She yelps slightly as he squeezes the pale flesh there and lets a growl rumble into her neck. It makes her giggle and he opens his eyes to look down on her.

She is a daydream.

She lies under him, flushed and breathing heavily. Eyes fluttered closed and a smile playing about her mouth. He hasn't noticed till now, but her hands had gripped the collar of his jumper and had stayed there, balled into tiny fists, steadying herself against their passion.

_Slow down, Tom, you don't want to scare her..._

Her eyes flicker open to meet his and she blushes slightly before nuzzling the tip of her nose against his.

He smiles and kisses her again, slower this time, but just as deeply. He brings a strong arm about her waist and heaves himself into a sitting position, taking her with him to straddle him.

Red chiffon pools in his lap.

She takes her lead from the hands that run up and down her back, pressing her into his chest, keeping her in his kiss.

Her hands cup his strong jawline, gently. He backs off to let her kiss him her own way.

_She's so delicate..._

Her lips are butterflies against his. Her tongue, teasing his own, makes him delirious.

Making him jolt, she lets herself graze her teeth softly along his bottom lip and rolls her hips along his hardness. His hands drop to her hips and he pushes her down further, hitting the bundle of nerves at her centre.

She gasps into his mouth and stiffens.

"Oh _God_, Tom..."

Her whisper drips with aching need.

He brings a hand to the zip at the back of her dress. Checking her face to see if he is OK to continue, he pulls her in for another kiss and slowly drags the fastener down. Her back is open to him now and he runs flat palms over the expanse of fair skin, feeling goosebumps rise under his touch.

He could stay like this all night but, she is apparently impatient. He smirks as she grasps the dress, pulling it over her head.

And then his smirk falls away as she lets the material drop to the floor. The sight before him stopping his breath where it sits.


	7. Chapter 7

You watch as he looks you over. The laugh in his eyes being replaced with carnal possession.

You had decided on your for-special-occasions-only 'What Katie Did-Coco' lingerie. An art-deco, vintage style set in black and white that showed your curves to their best advantage.

_Just in case..._

He obviously approved.

For a moment he just sits, tracing the seams that run down the back of your stockings. Then he exhales sharply and speaks, his voice gravelly with lust;

"You. Are in _so_ much trouble."

Without warning, he sharply rises to his feet, strong arms gathering you up as he gets up. You wrap your legs round him and giggle into his ear as he sets off, at a swift pace.

Entering his bedroom, he tosses you, none too lightly down onto his soft bed. Another laugh leaves you as you impact. You watch him, smiling down at you and feel yourself losing control as he peels off his jumper.

His t-shirt goes with it, leaving him topless as he presses himself over you.

_Oh God, Oh God, Oh God..._

There's next to no time to memorise his body though, as his kisses begin to travel over your collarbones. Then they are marking your shoulders, pushing your bra straps down. You pull your arms out of them and drape them over your head.

His hand runs up your body, over your ribs, before gently nudging down the cup of your bra, releasing your nipple. As he takes it in his mouth, grazing his tongue there, your world blurs and you moan out his name.

He runs a hand under you, as you arch your back, mouth never wavering from your breast, and releases the catch of your bra. He flings it away carelessly and scoops you up against him, relishing the feeling of your skin against his own.

Your hands curl into his hair and let your head fall back, allowing yourself to succumb to the wonderful sensation of his mouth making your nipples hard. He dips his head lower, trailing his tongue down your tummy, ever, ever so close to coming into contact with...

And then he stops, kneeling up with a mischievous grin on his face and flicks open your suspender clips. One. By. One.

* * *

He feels like he might burst any second.

She's like a wet dream from his teenage years.

He slides each stocking off her, kissing his way down each newly bare leg. The suspender belt joins them on the floor and he exhales deeply at the sight of her.

Lay there, only in her knickers, chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths. Hands above her head, tangled in, both his bedsheets, and the glorious halo of curls that shone around her face.

_I must be the luckiest man in London tonight..._

His heart thumps erratically as she raises herself to her knees, mirroring him. She coyly meets his eyes, before leaning into him and letting her lips press the most fragile line of kisses along his jaw.

He lets his eyes close and concentrates on the tantalising feeling of her taking control.

She is just letting her tongue play along his earlobe when he feels the unmistakable tug of her hands at his belt. She pulls it from him, excruciatingly slowly and he has to fight the urge to pin her beneath him and fuck the living daylights out of her.

_Let her take her time... let her... Oh, __**fuck**__... take... her... time... _

He tries to think of something, _anything_ to stop the lascivious animal within him from escaping, but then his fly is down and her hand is running along his length with unfathomable daintiness.

His eyes fly open, and she doesn't stand a chance.

* * *

You are flat against the bed before you can even register him moving.

He practically devours you, kissing you with a growl that emanates from deep, deep within him. You feel the sharp pinch at your hips as your knickers are, quite literally, ripped from your body and only have a moment to gather your senses before his fingertips are there, _right there, _generating a guttural moan from you, unfamiliar to even yourself.

His fingers are firm and urgent against your clit, swooping and skimming over it as he raises his head to watch you as you fall apart beneath him.

Your eyes roll back and you're lost, only vaguely hearing the groaning and panting that you almost don't register as coming from yourself. You grip the sheets above your head, desperately, as if trying to hold on to some small part of reality.

This man knows _exactly_ what he's doing.

You cry out as his fingers slip into you, thumb moving to keep the pressure on your clit. This is too much, him curling inside you, twisting to discover those hidden places that make you bite against your bottom lip, make you push into him.

And then suddenly, before there's much more than a second to register it happening, you are tightening around his long fingers, grasping at his wrist to keep him precisely where he is;

_Right there, Oh, __**JESUS**__, right there!_

And you're groaning out his name, panting, whimpering under him as he murmurs your name in your ear, begging you to come for him.

"That's it, my darling girl, come for me... _God_, you're glorious."

You've fallen head-first into intoxicating oblivion, and it's all you ever dreamed of.


	8. Chapter 8

The sight of this girl, this _woman_, twitching in ecstasy below him is maddening. He is drunk on her. Her passion mingling with his own is a heady mixture, sending him reeling.

_For the love of all that is Holy, I need to be inside her._

His length still strains against his jeans and boxers, almost painfully now. While she recovers, he slips them off, freeing himself with a sigh of relief. Quickly, he scrambles in his beside table for a condom, tearing it open and rolling it on with impatient, shaking hands.

He positions himself between her legs, resting on his forearms so he doesn't hurt her. He nuzzles his nose against hers until her eyes finally flutter open.

"Was that OK?"

She can barely answer.

"Are you _kidding_?"

He laughs, softly, lips grazing hers.

"I want you," he whispers, "I want to see you do that over, and over again. I want to take you hard, fast, slowly, gently, every way imaginable. I want my name to fall from your lips in a thousand different ways. I want to leave you breathless. I want to worship every centimetre of your astonishing body with every inch of mine."

At this, he runs the tip of his cock along her warm, wet folds.

_Holy. Fuck. Rein it in, Tom. Think calming thoughts..._

She flinches and gasps with anticipation, making him smile.

"Is that alright with you, darling?"

And when she finally answers, her_ 'Oh God, Yes' _morphs from a, barely audible whisper to a scream, as he plunges his thick, solid cock deep into her.

* * *

The second he sheathed himself inside you, you knew it wouldn't be long before you came again. The dull, familiar ache, low down in your pelvis, built with every stroke he took into you.

"Oh my God..." you pant, "Tom, _Tom_, you have to slow down..."

He does, almost stopping, looking down at you with worry etched across his face.

You smile and shake your head, feebly.

"No! No, you aren't hurting me, I'm just _very_ close."

_That_ grin slowly splits his face, that 'Loki' grin, that 'Bad Guy' smile.

"Oh _really_? How interesting..." he purrs, his voice tinged with threat.

He kneels up, resting back on his heels and the minute your hips are pulled up off the bed, you know you're in serious fucking trouble.

He clings to your hips with vice-like hands and slams himself into you. Hard. All the way to the hilt. Over and over and over again.

"Come for me." he groans out, trying to fight against his own growing pleasure.

The tip of his cock hits the G-Spot you didn't even realise you had, with every thrust. The pressure inside you builds and builds until, finally, it splinters, and he slows down, letting your hips ebb and flow over him. Letting you ride out your orgasm in your own time.

One, large hand runs down your tummy, covering you, caressing your breasts as you jerk around him.

You look up at him. His forehead is creased with concentration, flinching every time your walls tighten on his cock. He moans your name and pushes into you gently.

Mischief flares in you.

You slide him out of you, ignoring the bereft look on his face and the pouty little noise that he makes. His eyes widen in shock as you push him back into the pillows and kneel over him, whispering into his ear.

"My turn..."

* * *

His dick kicks out at her words, and he strains his hips up to enter her.

But she pulls away and he sees a wanton smile curl the edges of her mouth, impishly.

"Now, now." she teases, "Be a good boy."

He sinks back into the pillows and lets his hands wrap themselves around her soft thighs.

_Well, this is interesting... my little fairytale princess has a wicked side..._

She kisses him languidly, and, while he is thus distracted, lowers herself onto him, enveloping just, _just_, the tip of his hardness in her velvet slit.

"Fuck..." he breathes against her lips.

She looks down at him, innocently, her hips bobbing ever so slightly on his engorged head.

"Why, Mr Hiddleston... whatever is the matter?" she coos.

His reply grumbles out of him, his fingers digging into her thighs.

"You know very fucking well, what, young lady."

"Hmmmmm." She moans, her tongue massaging his sensuously, "Yeah... I do."

And slowly she inches him inside her, eliciting the most wonderful noises from him. He lies, his cock enclosed in her, unable to think straight.

"What do you want me to do to you?" she teases, revolving her hips imperceptibly.

_Oh, what __**don't**__ I want you to do to me, you little minx..._

"I... Christ... _anything_."

"Tell me..." she demands, bucking her hips against him, coercively.

He sits up and envelops her in his arms, pleading;

"Fuck me, fuck me until all I can see is you."

And she grinds against him, matching him thrust for thrust as they frantically begin to move. He watches her losing herself, head rolling back with pleasure. He dips his lips to the seductive hollow at the base of the throat, and grazes his teeth on the porcelain skin there.

His movements are erratic now and he feels himself losing control, her pussy clenching down on him as he moves inside her.

_Christ, she's so tight! I can't hold on much longer..._

But she's one step ahead of him, fingernails digging into his shoulders as he tilts her hips to hit that sweet spot inside her.

"Tom... I... I'm..." she pants.

He is too and he'll be damned if she's not coming with him into insensibility. He brushes her clit with his thumb and she explodes around him. They cry out in unison and he pumps jerkily into her, clinging to her as he comes, hard.

She lets out a final shudder against him, before they fall back into the mattress, still holding onto each other for dear life.

Breathless, gasping for air, they gaze at each other, locked in their embrace. He whispers her name, it's all he can think of to say, and she smiles, mirroring his bliss, curling her fingers against his broad chest.


End file.
